The Gypsy
by flibeauti232
Summary: 3 years have passed since the Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock has gradually destroyed what remains of Moriarty's criminal empire. Now it's time for him to return home. But he's not out of the blue yet, especially when a mysterious woman makes him an offer he can't refuse. First part to the three part saga.
1. Obsolete

The Gypsy

Chapter 1

The sounds of screeching and heart wrenching yells filled the building and echoed through the walls. It was a cathedral in the isolated French countryside. Rain poured, thunder cracked, lightning struck the ground, but none of it could compare to the blood curdling screams from within. The sounds originate from the lower wing of the church inside what seemed to be a small infirmary. Several nurses and nuns crowd around a bed to the source of the screams.

A woman lied on the bed in agony, sheets covering the majority of her frame aside from the large lump on the lower half of her body.

She was in labor.

Her sweat-covered body trembled furiously. Her arms were bound to the bed, but she had enough momentum for her to cover her face with the pillow. This was no ordinary church, it was an asylum. The woman wasn't there 100% willingly, but at this point she couldn't leave. She also needed to stay hidden for a long while. The nuns recited soothing prayers to her in French as the nurses helped her deliver. The woman practically cursed the devil himself for putting her through so much agony. Minutes of resonant silence filled the room until the sounds of a soft whimper filled the room.

3 years later….

The night streets of Dublin were instantly filled with camera men, news reporters, curious people interested in the commotion, police, and tons of traffic. Two officers were arresting a cuffed man. The man was elderly (late 50s, early 60s), wearing an expensive suit (with cheap cuffs), and large-framed glasses and had thinning gray hair. His name was Jeffrey Sutherland. An Irish-American democrat suspected of trafficking an illegal cartel of drugs and slaves (most of which involved young males between the ages of 10-23). Also suspected of the murder of Charles Francis, private detective who was originally on Sutherland's case. According to Police Reports:

_Jeffery Nathaniel Sutherland has been suspected of multiple crimes involving Mexican/American affairs. They include smuggling of various illegal drugs including cocaine, methamphetamine and marijuana. Along with illegal human trafficking of nearly sixty young men and boys in which Sutherland claimed to be "importing soldiers for the British army" however after discovering compromising photos of him and 16 year-old Luke Debreu we have our doubts. According to the information received from an unknown source, Sutherland imported nearly twenty tons of drugs, by masking the scent with chloroform and weed-killer which hid the scent and prevented trained police dogs from detecting it. As for the young men, he had them dressed as soldiers in to make them seemed that they were arriving in Great Britain to participate in global warfare and conflicts the country is facing. The ones too young, were stored in the same crates that carried the disguised the drugs. Most of whom did not survive the transfer. His murder suspicion of Charlie Francis involves further investigation. _

The evidence against that man was astounding and included phone calls made by drug lords both American and Mexican. As well as photographs of him being present at the transference not to mention those heinous photos of him and young Luke. He was also suspected of having a sponsor for those events but police are still investigating. As of know the source of that information remains anonymous…for the police that is. In a diner, not too far from the events, a man looks through the window while enjoying a warm cup of tea, barely noticing the waitress setting down a plate of biscuits on his table.

"Will that be all for you sir?" she asks in a light yet distinct Irish accent.

The man turns to face her revealing to be the illustrious Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes, thank you…Marion."

"H-how…how did you-

"Your name tag."

"Ohh, ha…sorry…umm enjoy your meal sir."

Then she walks off a bit embarrassed.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and returned to gazing outside. It had been three years since the fall. Three years since his so called 'death'. Since he left behind the people he cared, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft. He was a genius and prided himself of it. The world's only consulting detective, but then that title was stripped from him. He was made a fraud, a fool, a criminal. All his years of hard work came crashing down because of one man. Jim Moriarty. Sherlock regretted not killing the man when he had the chance. But it wouldn't matter because Moriarty was always a step ahead of him. All of what Sherlock went through was because both of them were bored. When Sherlock finally found a way to prevent himself and his friends from dying, Moriarty killed himself just to have the last laugh. True, Sherlock did manage to come up with a way to make his suicide seem real, but it still required him to lay low until he destroyed what remained of Moriarty's empire. He would make the bastard rue the day he ever crossed paths with him.

The problem is, Moriarty and his criminal work were extremely covert. It would require tons of deductions and traveling to distinguish the crime from the very root. A lot of them were very complex and spread throughout the world not just one place. Plus once he actually solved the mystery he couldn't turn it in to the police without blowing his cover. Sherlock knew for a fact that he couldn't do this all alone. Which is why a year earlier he had been contacted, by an unknown source. This person provided clues and details about Moriarty's workings, and where his nearest crimes took root. Also of those that took place outside of Europe. Sherlock still had 'friends' who owed him favors, which was how he was able to fake his i.d. and travel to Brazil two weeks ago to uncover the mystery disappearance of the prime minister's wife as well as the location of Col. Sebastian Moran (whom the woman slept with). Moran escaped and Sherlock nearly blew his cover. Sooner or later he would find out that Sherlock was still alive, which was why he had to be stopped.

Sherlock's new 'friend' was the one responsible for giving him the pieces to the puzzle, he merely just solved them. He could have discovered the pieces himself eventually but that would take too much time and he was ready to return home. Besides this sponsor had connections with the authorities in which the investigations could be presented to without having Sherlock exposed. Sherlock was still skeptic about anonymous clients and wasn't sure what his sponsor wanted in return, but he was helping Sherlock get his life back together so he had to trust him.

When all the commotion died down, Sherlock returned to his motel he had been staying in, and paid the clerk use their computer. The moment he was on, he immediately contacted his sponsor via email.

_Holmes1: Are you there? Send_

_…Anonymous: Another mystery solved, Mr. Holmes. Send_

_Holmes1: You flatter me. But just so you know I still don't do anonymous clients. I was used to one mystery at the end of my cases. Send_

_Anonymous: Really? Is that how you thank someone who is trying to help you get your life back? Send_

_Holmes1: In which I am immeasurably grateful for, but I still have trouble trusting ones I know little about. Send_

_Anonymous: What more can I offer. I give you information about Moriarty's crime organization, you solve the case, I turn it over to authorities and WALLA! Another chunk is depleted. Send_

_Holmes1: So this last case was Moriarty's doing. I thought as much. What about Moran? Send_

_Anonymous: I lost touch with him a week ago. But I think he's beginning to figure it out. You know what that means, do you? Send_

Sherlock knew but he didn't want to answer.

_…Holmes1: Explain. Send_

_Anonymous: You'll have to return to London. That will be the first place he'll suspect you'll be. It's likely that he'll go after your friends. I will arrange a trap, you lure him in and turn him in to authorities. I'll give you his background information, his employers including Moriarty, and his crimes. Send_

_Holmes1: …Will it work? Send_

_Anonymous: Yes. Moran was Moriarty's right hand man. He'll know just about everything or at least enough to clear your name. But there's a complication. Send_

_Holmes1: Which is? Send_

_Anonymous: I can't stay in the same place without him finding me. And I certainly can't risk him discovering about me contacting you. Send _

_Holmes1: What do you propose we do? Send_

_Anonymous: We need to meet face to face and go through with our plans together. When Moran is captured I'll make sure he provides you with every single piece of information about Moriarty possible. We can finally bring that bastard down once and for all. Send_

_Holmes1: ….Alright. When do you suspect Moran will arrive in London? And where should we meet? Send _

_Anonymous: In about a month. I'll give you coordinates in 3 days at noon. But after that you'll have to find me on your own. If you're as go as I think you are it would be too hard of a problem. Send_

_Holmes1: I assure you I'm much better than you think I am. If I weren't I wouldn't be alive to have this discussion. Send _

_Anonymous: Well I would love to continue this tedious yet intriguing conversation but I much prefer keep things in motion outside of my computer. GOOD DAY TO YOU SIR. Send_

_End Message. _

Sherlock shutdown the computer, making sure the messages couldn't be traced. And laid back in his chair closing is eyes. After three years, he was going home.


	2. Home

Chapter 2

It was a another dull evening in 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen washing dishes, humming a little tune. She didn't know why, but she was beginning to miss cleaning out dead body parts from the fridge. At least it kept the night somewhat interesting. Suddenly there was a creaking sound coming from the door. Someone had broken in. Startled, Mrs. Hudson slowly reached for her phone to call the police. But before she could grab it, a shadowy silhouette of a man appeared through the translucent door. She looked closely and noticed how familiar he looked. He was wearing a long coat and bushy, curly hair.

"Just like-"

The door opened.

In Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was calling it night. He had already ordered the lights to be shut off, but there were still some flickering at the end of the hall. Irritated, he headed down that direction to turn them off himself, when he noticed someone standing at the end.

"Excuse me sir, something I can help you with?"

The man didn't say anything. Immediately, Lestrade froze in place the moment he got a better look at the man. It couldn't be.

At St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Molly Hooper had just finished her shift and was packing her things on her way to leave for home. She opened her locker door and nearly screamed as she looked in her mirror. It wasn't herself that terrified her. It was someone else. A man. A ghost. But she knew for a fact that there were no such things as ghost.

Mycroft Holmes was in his office sitting cross-legged in his chair going over some kind of file. The door opened and he expected it to be the maid here to finish cleaning up. But the door shut abruptly, breaking Mycroft's concentration. He looked up and nearly lost his cool composure, as he stared up in utter shock.

John Watson was sitting by himself at a restaurant enjoying a glass of wine. He had gotten an invitation about an hour ago and was asked to meet here and not worry about paying.

_We need to talk. It's important._

-_Holmes _

He had been waiting for nearly 30 minutes, he never imagined Mycroft showing up fashionably late, but he had spoken to the man in weeks. He had began developing somewhat of a relationship with the elder Holmes, but never forgave him for his betrayal. The only reason why he showed up because the note stated it was important. The door opened and a man walked in. John assumed it was Mycroft, but didn't bother turning around. The man walked past John and just stood there. After several seconds of silence the man speaks.

"Hello John."

John froze. That voice, it couldn't have been. After 3 years of pain, loss, and tragedy, why was he hearing that voice again? He must've been dreaming, but dreams couldn't be this realistic, could they? In spite of himself, he looked up. He saw the man standing, with his back towards him, but he instantly recognized that curly hair. The man turned around, and revealed himself to John. It was him. It was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock took a seat at the table and looked at John. He was expecting some kind of reaction, yet wasn't too surprised when John just sat there and stared at him. Sherlock made a quick deduction about John.

_**-He had grown a mustache the over the years (not for himself obviously, but maybe to impress someone else)**_

_**-There has been a significant amount of fidgeting in his left hand, not because he was nervous or surprised, because this wasn't normal for him. His limp had returned. **_

_**-He looked rather dapper in his new suit, but it wasn't fit for this occasion. John wouldn't normally dress like this, not his style.**_

_**-He had just recently retired as a surgeon. Not because of depression. **_

_**-Overall: He was seeing someone.**_

"I see that you're surprised to see me." Sherlock stated in his casual monotone.

John continued to stare in utter shock, jaw dropped wide open. He was resisting the urge to pick up a fork and stab himself with it just to wake himself up.

"I understand that you have questions. And I assure you, I do plan on having them answered, But now's not the time."

John nearly lost it after that last sentence. He didn't care if everyone else was watching.

"Now's not the time?!"he exclaimed after letting out a humorless chuckle.

"You were dead, Sherlock. You jumped multiple stories off St. Bart's Roof. Now after 3 years, here you are alive and in front and ALL you can say is_ 'now's not the time.'_

"John I understand how you must feel after all this time, but-

"No Sherlock, you don't. And until, I get some answers I'm not saying a _word_ to you."

Sherlock sat back in his seat to think. He could explain to John how he faked his death, that would easy. But explaining why he did it, why he never told John, and where he had been these past three years would not be that simple. Also it was risky coming back here in the first place with Moran on the loose, and if he stayed any longer eventually word would get out. Moran would find out and be on his tail. The only reason Sherlock returned was to ensure his friends safety, but at the same time to get help. He had less than two days until his 'sponsor' contacted him, and as usual Sherlock was still skeptic about the idea. Holmes knew nothing about that person and there was a possibility that it could be a trap. If that was the case he needed assistance. He was hesitant about putting John or anyone else he cared for endanger, but John was the only one he could trust. Even though he had mixed feelings about seeing Sherlock, he knew for a fact that John couldn't resist learning how the sleuth cheated death.

So Sherlock rationalized and stood up making his way to the door.

"There isn't enough time. There's something I still need to do, I can't return home permanently unless I finish this final task. If you want to know more you'll have to follow me. But I'm not going to force you to do something against your own will. "

And with that he was gone. But he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be alone.

"3...2...1.."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock turned around to find John chasing him down the street. When he finally caught up, he practically pleaded to know.

"Please, just tell me what's going on."

Sherlock smirked and gestured for John to follow him.

Just like old times.


	3. Truth

Chapter 3

Sherlock and John both walked down the street together, towards St. Bartholomew's hospital. As they reached their destination, Sherlock stopped. They were standing right in the middle of where Sherlock fell. Immediately, Sherlock closed his eyes and envisioned that exact same moment 3 years ago on the day of his suicide.

_"Good Bye John," were his last words as he tossed his phone to the ground, spread his arms wide and jumped. _

_The only thing John saw that day was Sherlock falling, and lying on the ground. But he never saw him actually hit the ground._

_"From where you were standing John, you saw the roof and me falling off, but you never saw the ground because it was obscured by a smaller building in front. That gave me an advantage. There was a reason why I had you stand where you were."_

_Sherlock then walked effortlessly to the other side where there was a truck a few feet from where Sherlock landed. _

_"Right there," Sherlock pointed to a chalked out area on the sidewalk, "There is where my fall was broken." _

_A fairly small inflatable mattress had appeared in the chalked out area on the side walk. John wasn't too surprised about the mattress, everything else was still confusing. Like how the mattress got there? Where was it he John saw Sherlock on the ground? Why didn't anyone else see it? Also, why couldn't John feel Sherlock's pulse that day? _

_Sherlock looked up towards the roof and held his hands behind his back as he spoke._

_"That day, I had an accomplice. More than one actually. Someone who helped me stage my death. Placed the mattress in that exact same position from where I landed, and removed it just in time. There was also someone who made sure the area was clear, so they wouldn't see the ruse. The biker who smashed into you, I had hired to make sure you were distracted to avoid seeing what was really happening."_

_Then he paused and turned towards John._

_"Now that I had faked my fall, faking my actual death would be a different story. In the lab, I was developing a serum in the form of a drug that causes ventricular bradycardia, and also shuts down the central nervous system for short periods of time. But in order for it to work, I needed to weaken my pulse."_

_He held up his fisted-hand and revealed the plastic, blue ball he had been squeezing in his hand the whole time. _

_"Before I jumped, I ingested the pill and waited several minutes for it to take effect-thus the long phone call to you. The blood you saw wasn't mine, well most of it wasn't."_

_Sherlock lifted his curly bangs and revealed a scar along the top of his forehead. John cringed slightly. _

_"I also had someone announce that I had jumped to the crowd of people beyond me. I needed to make sure that you had been one of the people to confirm that I was dead, but at the same time not involve you in my plans. Once my body was taken away, I had someone switch me with another corpse whose appearance was altered to look like me."_

_"Molly," John thought out loud, earning him a nod from Sherlock. _

_"That day, Sherlock Holmes was confirmed dead. Thus creating the "Suicide of Fake Genius" in the tabloids."_

The flashback ended, and John and Sherlock returned to reality. John stood there in both awe and aghast from hearing Sherlock's story on how he survived. Finally he had to speak.

"So you've been hiding this whole time."

Sherlock turned his head away, his expression more serious.

"Not exactly," his tone matching his expression, "I've been gradually destroying Moriarty's criminal network piece-by-piece for the past three years. Starting small from a smuggling scandal in Hammersmith to the American-European drug/slave trafficking in Dublin."

"So that was you who solved that case." John stated, remembering that story he heard in the papers.

"That and many others," Sherlock responded.

Before he could continue, John let out a sharp breath. His feelings about Sherlock and the entire situation were all over the place now. He began pacing around in circles to clear his mind.

"I am sorry, John," Sherlock apologized calmly, but with uncensored sincerity in his voice, "I had no choice. Moriarty would have had you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade killed if I hadn't jumped. Then the bastard took his life, before I could get him to call off his snipers. Please don't think I only did it to prove to the world that I was a fake."

"I already know you're not a fact, and I understand why you did it." John replied obviously holding back tears before he started to chuckle, "I just can't tell whether I want to hug you or punch you in the face…repeatedly."

Sherlock walked up to John.

"I guess I shouldn't deny you of that right," he said with somewhat of a smile expecting to be punched in the face again.

John stood, toward Sherlock, stance firm, fist clenched and mouth in a grim line. But instead of hitting Sherlock, he wrapped his arms around him, embracing him. Surprised, Sherlock returns the embrace in an awkward yet affectionate fashion. He heard John sob a bit in his chest, and began to feel an affinity of guilt for putting him through all that. Mrs. Hudson was the same, only difference is she practically fainted. Molly wasn't too shocked to see him (she did help him fake his death), but still gave him a small hug. Lestrade merely told him that it was good to see him again, even though he didn't even hide an ounce of shock and pleasure on his face. Mycroft practically greeted him casually, however beyond those cynical eyes, Sherlock could still see some shock, relief and even guilt in his brother.

After about a few moments the hug ended. John wiped tears from his eyes and regained his composure.

"There's so much more I need tell you John," Sherlock said getting serious again.

John merely nodded.

"My place, then?"

"Lead the way, and maybe you can tell me about the new girlfriend."

John paused for a while, then smiled. He nearly forgot Sherlock could do that.

Both men took a cab to John's flat, which was only a couple of blocks away from Baker Street. _"Still keeps in touch with Mrs. Hudson" _Sherlock deduced.

When they arrived inside, Sherlock immediately sat down on the couch and John put on some tea. John's flat was smaller than their old one, but still very lively. Sherlock had also learned about Mary Morstan, John's fiancée. They had started seeing each other nearly a year after Sherlock's death, and had been together for two years. They were to be married by the end of the summer. Sherlock assumed she had to be special, because John wouldn't propose to any ordinary woman. She also happened to be out of town for a few days on business. Making this easier for Sherlock. John handed Sherlock the cup, and sat across in a chair across from him.

"Well I guess I should start from the beginning," Sherlock Stated taking a sip of his tea, "Over a year, I was contacted by an unknown sponsor. He had been providing me with clues about Moriarty's crime network in which I used to help me with these cases. He also showed the root of Moriarty's empire and the location of Colonel Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's sniper, and right-hand man. For month's I had been traveling across Europe and even around the world. I had just gotten back from Brazil, several weeks ago where I discovered Moran having an affair with the prime minister's wife. I nearly brushed into him that day, which is why I needed to stay low. But my sponsor claims that Moran may suspect that I'm still alive. He might return to London to find me, and put you and everyone else in danger just to bring me out of hiding."

"So what do you and he plan to do, with Moran out there?" John asked curious and nervous.

"He wants to meet with me, in order to arrange a trap to catch Moran. He'll be contacting me in less than two days to give me the coordinates to our next meeting. He also claims to have information about Moran that can tie him in to every crime involving his old boss. There's a problem though.'

John raised his eyebrows at him.

"I still don't do anonymous clients, especially when they involve Moriarty. But it's the only way to prove to the world that Jim Moriarty did exist and that I'm not a fake. But I can't do it alone."

John widened his eyes slightly in sudden realization.

"You need my help," John asked with some excitement.

"I don't trust this man, whoever he is. But to be sure it isn't a trap I'll need some assistance. Plus it also ensures your safety as well."

Sherlock got up and walked towards John.

"Think of it this way, with you getting married. This could be our last adventure together. After I've cleared my name and return to London permanently, I will never drag you along on any of my cases for as long as you like."

John stood out of his chair and looked up at Sherlock smiling. In spite of his new happy life, he did miss the old days where he was solving cases with Sherlock, nearly getting shot, blown up and drugged.

"Sherlock Holmes," he started strongly, "whatever it takes to clear your name and show the world your genius and how you cheated death, it would be my honor to accompany you."

Sherlock smiled and shook John's hand.

Today was the exact date in which Sherlock's sponsor was to contact him. He had stayed in John's flat the whole time, even borrowed his computer. It was only a few minutes until noon, both men were anxious. Sherlock practically stared at the clock, flinching every time the hand moved up. Finally the sound Big Ben chimed, signifying it being 12:00 p.m. exactly. Sherlock immediately typed the email and sent it.

_Holmes1: Are you there? SEND_

_….Anonymous: Your timing is quite punctual, Mr. Holmes. I see you've arrived in London. SEND_

"How did he know?" John asked.

_Holmes1: Temporarily. I do believe I look forward to meeting you in person for the first time. SEND_

_Anonymous: Indeed. Well then here are the coordinates. _48.85° N, 2.4° E. _We can meet by the end of the week. I will give you two days. To find me after that you are on your own, I'm afraid. SEND_

_…Holmes1: Very well. But do I at least get a hint as to where I can find you. SEND _

_Anonymous: That depends. I'm sure the scenery might ring a few bells. SEND _

_Message ended. _

Sherlock closed the laptop, this time making sure he saved it. And got up.

"John does your phone have GPS?" he asked John abruptly.

John merely nodded and handed him his phone.

Sherlock unlocked the phone and typed in the coordinates into the phone's GPS. Instantly, the coordinates showed him an area right on the edge of Paris. Sherlock smiled.

"John, we're going to France."

_A/N: What did you guys think? I apologize, but I had no idea how to write Sherlock's fake death so I improvised. _


	4. Our Lady of Paris

Chapter 4

John was beginning to have trouble processing this entire new chain of events. First, the genius detective and his best friend that everyone thought was dead was actually alive and staying in his flat. Then, despite Moriarty being dead, he and everyone else Sherlock cared about was in danger by one of the madman's henchmen, and not just any henchmen, a world reknown sniper and. Finally the two of them were headed to Paris to meet with Sherlock's anonymous partner whose been helping him take down Moriarty's crime empire during Sherlock's self-exile.

"Boy this would make a interesting soap opera on telly," John said to himself.

John had just finished packing. Sherlock claimed that they wouldn't be there for long, though it would be nice if Sherlock's new 'friend had told them his exact location instead of making Sherlock find him on his own. Worst part was that Sherlock didn't even know who the chap was, or what he looked like. He trusted that Sherlock would be clever enough to pick him from the crowd.

Sherlock was in the living room, sitting on the couch with his hands in his signature thinking position. John couldn't help but smirk as he set his suitcase down. He had already called Mary and told her that he would be out of town for a couple of days to help an old friend with some work. It wasn't really a lie, but he knew she wouldn't believe him if he had told her the full truth. She had told him that it was alright, and even asked him to give his friend her love. That's why John loved that woman.

"You want me to call your brother?" John asked.

"No need," Sherlock responded as if he was already expecting it.

Right on cue, the door knocks.

"Come in!" John called out.

The door opens and in walks the elder Holmes, with the expensive suit holding his signature umbrella in his hands.

"Afternoon, boys," he said casually, not taking his eyes off Sherlock.

"Mycroft, " Sherlock responded in the same casual tone, "I assume you have everything arranged for our trip."

"Indeed. Your flight leaves at 4:00 right at tea time, first class and your new I.D. is Alexander Morris, a British retailer."

"Excellent."

John finally broke the discreet tension between the two brothers.

"Wait a minute, you two already made an _arrangement?_" John asked

"Of course," Sherlock replied, "I approached Mycroft about the situation and we made plans of travel beforehand. After receiving the location to the meeting, he helped me with our flight plan."

"Are you certain you know what you are doing, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked with a hint of concern in his voice, "That email you sent to me couldn't be traced to a direct source. And if you have no clue, who this so called 'sponsor' is you may be walking blind into a hostile situation."

"Don't worry, that's why I chose to bring John along," Sherlock stated confidently patting John on the back. The latter merely just smiled nervously.

Mycroft sighed.

"I can't get involved if Moran finds you." Mycroft stated back with hint of regret in his tone.

"He won't," was all Sherlock said.

The brothers stared at each other in silence. Then to John's amazement, Mycroft put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Be safe," Mycroft merely said his tone not in his usual cold, cynical fashion.

Sherlock only nodded his head and even smirked.

"Now if you gentlemen, will excuse me, I have an agency to maintain, and a country to protect."

And with that he was gone. John would remember that as the moment where the two brothers showed any sympathy or even love toward on another.

The flight was only a couple of hours, though Sherlock went on about the amount of rising paranoia at the airport and John merely told them about flight managers taking necessary precautions to keep people safe. He couldn't believe he missed the bickering and bantering with the man.

When they finally reached the airport, Sherlock was in full detective mode, even though his disguise was that of a retailer. He immediately began scanning every individual. So far, no one was a suspect. Since John couldn't speak French, Sherlock did all the translating. The two men grabbed there luggage, and headed outside to catch a cab. During the ride to their hotel, Sherlock and John got a glimpse of all the sights, including the famous Eiffel tower, the Seine river, the Royal Palace, and many other things. It was a beautiful evening and the sights were stunning. John seemed to be enjoying himself while Sherlock was only thinking about the job. By the time they reached the hotel, Sherlock checked them in to two separate rooms (after John got fed up with people mistaking them for a couple).

"I finally get engaged and people still can't help, but think that I'm gay." he complained.

Sherlock stood on the balcony looking outside, as John worked on his laptop.

"So how long do we have to find him?" John asked.

"About 48 hours at the most," Sherlock answered in his usual monotone.

"Great," John said almost agitated, "How do you suppose we find him?"

"We'll have to try searching the borders first," Sherlock responded, "I might leave early to get a head start."

"There's two million people in this city Sherlock, are you going to analyze every person you see until you find something about them that might make them a suspect?"

"If I have to."

The next morning, Sherlock left the hotel early while John was still asleep. He decided to take a boat on the Seine River to get a better look at the area. He left a note behind telling John he'd be back around 10. He was a bit surprised that boats still rode this early, but shrugged it off with gratitude. Once he was on, he was immediately given a tour of the entire area. Hardly anyone was on (not surprising) aside from employees and sailormen. After about twenty minutes, Sherlock looked at his map and he realized the boat wassailing at the exact same location as the coordinates he was sent. He immediately got up and looked around. There wasn't much to see exact a few buildings and apartments, but he figured his sponsor wouldn't want to meet at a place too obvious. His train of thought was interrupted as he heard splashing. He looked down and saw someone swimming in the river.

"This early?" he thought to himself.

After a closer look, he realized it was a woman. She swam up to the boat and climbed aboard. A man offered her a towel another man gave her drink. Curious, Sherlock walked up to her but didn't fully approach her.

"Un peu trop tôt pour une baignade, ne pensez-vous pas ma chère?" Sherlock asked in French.

The woman froze. Sherlock smirked, knowing that he got her attention. She then turned around to look at him.

"Mais il n'est jamais trop tôt pour avoir votre esprit s'éclaircit" the woman responded in the same tongue.

She walked up to Sherlock. That's when Sherlock made his deductions about her.

_**-Due to her lack of clothing he couldn't tell what her profession was. However; her swimsuit is expensive, says a lot about her wealth. **_

_**-Tall (about 5'9); late twenties; slender, curvy body; long thick curly hair (possibly a model) but body's a bit muscular especially on the arms legs and abdominals (could be a physical trainer), her feet look like they often had a significant amount of pressure on them due to the slight discoloring (could be a dancer)**_

-_**Light-medium Brown/Mocha colored**_ _**skin tone; narrow, symmetrical face; full lips; long, slightly broad nose; cat-like hazel eyes (not fully European, but still European-born.) Physical appearance might suggest she's of Northern African (probably Ethiopian) descent, with some Arabic in her blood. Accent is strained, almost forced. (obviously not really French)**_

_**-Has a very professional stance even in her bikini, doesn't slouch, makes direct eye contact, elegant posture, and upmost confidence.**_

_**-Overall: Very attractive woman. Gorgeous actually. Upper class status. Dancer. Possible model.**_

"You're British aren't you." the woman stated apparently capable of speaking English.

"What gave me away?" Sherlock asked.

"Your clothes. Posture. Coat. Cologne. And now you're accent." she answered.

Sherlock raised a brow. Smart girl.

"May I ask why you're here, or do you prefer to remain discreet? She asked curiously.

"I could be on vacation, what do you think, mademoiselle?"

"Well if you were you wouldn't be up at 6:30 in the morning on a boat in your professional attire. Unless your meeting with someone. A lover, perhaps? No, romances occur at night. Your anxiety is throbbing, but not because of excitement. Nervousness, maybe. That person would have to be very important. Could be a boss or an employer. But no, you wouldn't take a boat to meet them. You took the boat to attempt to clear your head, and for the silence. Why else would a man ride a boat this early with no one else around? But something pulled you out of your calm meditation just now, and not just because of a beautiful woman standing in front of you. Something that jolted your memory."

Sherlock stood there in utter amazement at this woman's deductions. He wasn't sure whether or not he should tell her what he was really doing here. She could be working for Moran, but she somehow knew that he would be meeting someone here. Moran couldn't have known that unless...

"But I supposed it's not my place to know. I apologize for interfering in your business, monsieur." she apologized abruptly.

"Oh it's fine, love." Sherlock responded holding out his hand, "Alexander Morris."

She looked at Sherlock, then down at his hand and then shook it.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Morris."

Immediately, loud bells began to ring.

"It would seem our lady has made her morning call," the woman remarked as she headed the boats edge and sat on it.

"I didn't quite get your name." Sherlock reminded.

The woman looked back at him and smirked.

"I didn't give it," she replied smugly. And then she jumped back into the river and swam away.

The bells continued ringing, making Sherlock irritated. Then a thought came to mind. He remembered the last thing is sponsor said to him in his message.

_"I'm sure the scenery might ring a few bells."_

Then he remembered what the woman told him.

_"It would seem our lady has made he morning call."_

Three words stood out in his mind.

**_Our Lady. Paris. Bells_**

He immediately went into his mind palace to try to piece them together.

_**Our lady bells in Paris. NO**_

**_Bells are our lady of Paris. NO_**

**_Our Lady of Paris with Bells. PROCESSING..._**

The Bells rang again. Sherlock turned towards the source. A large cathedral.

_**Our lady of Paris rings bells. **_

Then it hit him like a bullet. He knew where the sponsor would be.

_**Our lady of Paris rings bells...NOTRE DAME!**_

_A/N: So what did you guys think. Btw, Sherlock says "A bit to early for a swim, don't you think my dear?" And the girl says "Never to early to have our mind cleared." _


	5. Ruse

Chapter 5

By the time the boat made a stop, Sherlock practically jumped off and headed for his new location. He had already texted John with his temporary mobile phone he had purchased days before their arrival.

_I found the location of our new friend. Notre Dame. 11 a.m. Don't be late._

_-SH_

The moment Sherlock reached the large church it was surrounded by tons of people. No surprise, it was one of Paris's best attractions, and historical monuments. Although rarely shown, he did have a large appreciation for beautifully constructed, centuries old buildings. When he was a child, he dreamed of visiting the Taj Mahal, but his parents rarely had the time or money to take him. Even as an adult he lacked both (mostly the time, money was merely an object to him). The moment he walked in he was immediately indulged in the by the carved pillars, portal shaped entrances, stained glass windows, and the many statues on the walls. The queen herself would be envious at not living in a home as astonishingly idyllic as this. But Sherlock knew he wasn't there on tour, he was there strictly on a mission. He finally made his way to the nave looking toward the altar. There were a few people sitting on the many rows of seat praying apparently. Sherlock didn't pay them much mind. Although there were still many religious activities, Notre Dame seemed mostly like a tourist attraction.

By the time Sherlock made his way to the altar, he looked around to make sure no one else was watching. When the coast was clear he walked up to observe it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but if he had managed to successfully deduce that his so called 'sponsor' would be here it was only a matter of time until he actually found him.

"Is there anything you seek of, brother?" an eerily familiar feminine voice called out.

Sherlock smiled lightly, and turned around. There the same woman he met on the boat earlier looking up at him. She was dressed in the traditional nun attire and had a look of mild amusement on her face.

"I didn't expect a woman like you to have such a restrained profession," he said with his tone as smug as his expression.

"Sanctuary is for all God's children regardless," she replied her amusement not diminishing one bit, "even for those with a rather 'anarchistic' nature."

Sherlock raised a brow.

"You don't say." He then stepped down to face her. "I'm guessing that is the reason for your choice of disguise, _sister_."

"What makes you think this is a disguise?" she asked.

"Several things," Sherlock said in his usual firm, monotone, "Including that expensive Chanel perfume, heavily manicured nails, and that 30k diamond necklace.

"Also…" he reached down and lifted up her gown revealing her fishnet tights and designer heels.

"Not the most appropriate attire for a nun, wouldn't you agree?"

She immediately slapped Sherlock's hand off her gown.

"It's not polite to lift a lady's dress up like that," she simply said, still looking amused.

"What's necessary may not always be the polite thing to do," Sherlock responded expression not changing.

"Well I guess that may explain your erratic and even derogatory behavior….Monsieur Sherlock Holmes," she responded back a look of vague triumph on her face.

Once again, Sherlock raised an eyebrow though wasn't really surprised.

"So you know." It wasn't a question.

"Indeed. My employer tells me everything. He didn't even bother telling you exactly where he was, because he knew you would have figured it out yourself with that magnificent brain. All you needed was a hint."

Sherlock's expression became more serious now.

"Who are you? Who is your employer?" he said in a deep tone.

"So sorry, monsieur. But that's just not how the game is played," she replied nonchalantly, "And I don't like being the whistleblower."

Before she could walk away, Sherlock grabbed her by her upper arm, halting her in place.

"If you know who I am then you should be well aware that I don't do anonymous clients." He said his tone hard.

"And you obviously don't know who I am, so I should let you know that I also don't like being touched inappropriately," she stated grabbing his hand, as she ducked over and nearly jabbed him in the gut with her elbow.

Sherlock narrowly managed to evade the attack as he grabbed her elbow and pushed her away, stumbling over a bit himself.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked again.

"Make a deduction," she said rising to her feet, "You first, then me."

She stood in a fighting stance.

"If you get the upper hand, I will tell you everything you need to know."

"I don't like to fight girls," Sherlock said casually.

"But you don't hesitate if necessary."

"I still make exceptions."

"Would you still make an exception if I told you that not only can my client help you capture Colonel Moran, but give you the entire background information on James Moriarty as well as every single one of his clients he's come into contact with."

Sherlock froze. It couldn't be true. But still.

"Well now, Shall we begin?" the woman said with a smirk as she lunged toward Sherlock.

She attempted to deliver a measured kick to Sherlock's head standing on her hands. Sherlock dodged it and reached forward to grab her other leg, but she was too quick. She immediately flipped backwards, and attempted to throw a punch to his head, he blocked it delivering a counterpunch (reluctantly) in which she had blocked effortlessly. After a couple moments of the routine assault the two broke away from each other.

"Soooooooooo?" the woman drawled.

"You're an impressive combat specialist, but you're obviously holding back," Sherlock began to deduce.

"Boss told me to keep you in one piece," she replied eyeing him up and down, "and who can blame him."

"I initially thought of you as a model or dancer." He continued.

"I still am. It's all a part of my façade." She continued her assault on Sherlock.

"You're a spy." Sherlock said in between deflected punches and kicks.

"In a way, yes," she stated grabbing Sherlock by both his arms pulling them apart, "My turn."

She lifted both her legs up, using Sherlock as a support, and kicked him square in the chest. Sherlock tumbled over and fell flat on his back grunting in pain. The woman walked toward him and put her foot on his chest.

"The whole world still thinks you're dead, but not everyone does. Immediately after my employer contacted you, I imagine that you returned to London to not only reveal to your friends that you were still alive, but to warn them about Moran's possible arrival. But you don't seem like a man to take unnecessary risks without a little help, which is also why I imagined that you didn't arrive here alone. You figured that it would be a trap, and it isn't by the way just to let you know. My employer is a man of his word. Also until a few days ago Alexander Morris didn't exist, it takes a bit longer than that for someone to make a perfect fake I.D. and I could have sworn you had a brother who was head of the British government, he could've had something to do with it. But you can't return home unless you clear your name and reveal yourself not to be the fraud, that Moriarty made you out to be, am I correct?"

"So it seems," Sherlock replied calmly clamping both his legs down on her right one, rolling over in order to cause her to lose her balance and fall on the floor with an unforgiving thud. He then got on top of her quickly and pinned her wrists to the floor.

"It seems that I have gained the upper hand, mademoiselle," he said in triumph.

"Touché, mon ami," she replied in French.

"My employer is Luc Javert, but he goes by the alias called 'The Gypsy'. He was once one of Moriarty's 'made men' or so that's what he called them. Due to certain unfortunate events, in which he doesn't enjoy speaking of, he was betrayed and left for dead by the mad man. I suppose you can say this is revenge. However; even after Moriarty took his own life, Javert knew for a fact that death wouldn't truly destroy that man. Which is why he recruited both me and you, he needed brains and skill, to deteriorate Moriarty's crime network. I had my own 'specific' set of skills, as well as a personal grudge against Moriarty. When he founded out you were still alive he contacted you because he needed someone with experience with crime investigation."

Sherlock released the woman and helped her to her feet.

"Where is he now?" he asked firmly.

"Up in the bell tower, I'll let him know you're coming." Sherlock turned around and made his way up.

"Oh and one more thing Mr. Holmes." She called out.

Sherlock looked back only to have his foot stomped on, and elbowed in the chest causing him to fall back in the seat. He didn't notice it at first but there was no one else here. She probably had them all leave when Sherlock was occupied elsewhere. She raised he foot to Sherlock's head, but didn't move to kick him.

"My name is Arisia Heron." She introduced herself taking off her veil, and cartwheeling away.


	6. The Gypsy pt 1

The Gypsy pt. 1

The Bell Tower. Sherlock debated whether he should travel there himself or if he should wait for John. Though he didn't particularly enjoy being patient, but after three years of hiding he knew that patience wasn't an option. Besides the last thing he wanted to do was cripple John's trust by not elaborating him on the situation beforehand. Although he was told that his client Luc Javert was not a threat, he still knew too little about the man to come to that theory. He was a man bent on revenge. Vengeance, much like love, is a vicious motivator; however one's actions based of that desire ultimately depends his current state of being. A bitter, depressed and even beaten man would never have any real motivation to seek retribution, no matter how strong their drive is (after all bitterness is a paralytic). An angry, hurt, and hateful man has fairly little self-control meaning that he has very little capability of being calculating and efficient. Javert obviously had to be hurt enough to want to destroy everything James Moriarty has worked for and smart enough to create a plan of action involving the detective.

Then there was the fairly mysterious Arisia Heron. From what he observed, she was a wealthy, intelligent and beautiful young woman. Although she seemed like just a pawn in this game, Sherlock knew that there was much more to her than meets the eyes. For starters, she was very clever and perceptive as well as independent and skilled. Javert could have easily employed any woman with an above average intelligence, strong loyalty and a professional status, but he chose her. Sherlock figured she had to have been a spy and she admitted it more or less, but there was still something else about her profession that he couldn't determine. And if she's assisting him with the downfall of Moriarty's empire then she had to be something special. There were only a handful of people Sherlock Holmes took an interest in, so far Ms. Arisia Heron was one of them.

Despite the odds of him not being endanger were in his favor somewhat, Sherlock thought it best for John to arrive so that way he could not only be on the safe side, but also so that he wouldn't have to explain every single detail of the events that took place. Meanwhile he scanned the area, just out of a habit. So far everyone around him were just tourists, priests or religious activists, but no threats. It was 15 minutes til 11 when John finally arrived. He looked annoyed, just like he usually did whenever he was confused by Sherlock's antics.

"You took your time," Sherlock stated in his casual, mocking tone, earning him a nasty look from John.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I had to spend all morning trying to find a guide who speaks English, to help me find this place, and pay for a cab that blew out a tire, and pay for a boat ride with still over ten minutes to spare," John all but complained.

Sherlock merely smirked, John rolled his eyes.

"So about this new friend of yours…" John began.

"He's waiting for us in the bell tower."

"You don't say. So have you met him?"

"Not exactly. In fact I still barely know who he is aside from what I've been told."

John crossed his arms.

"So what have you been told?"

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back as he spoke.

"His name is Luc Javert but he goes by 'The Gypsy. ' Apparently for the past few years, he's been seeking revenge for Moriarty's betrayal even after his death. But so far that's all I know."

John was a bit exasperated, but he tried to keep a straight, understanding face.

"So where exactly did you get this information and how did you know to meet him here?" John asked with his arms still crossed.

Sherlock looked up to the central port of the west front of the cathedral where he gazed at the statue of St. Michael the Archangel.

"Let's just say I had an angel guide the way."

The two men reached the top of the towers where they casually snuck past the tourists and security guards. By the time they reached the balcony, Sherlock noticed a large, burly man staring at the two from a corner nearby. He turned around and locked eyes with a man in a non-intimidating fashion. After a few moments of staring, the large man turned his body to the side and tilted his head to the right, gesturing for them to follow him. Both John and Sherlock followed the man to a room inside one of the towers. He unlocked the door and went inside, gesturing for the other two men to wait here. He spoke to someone else in French in which Sherlock translated to John as:

_"The detective and his companion have arrived, sir."_

After a few seconds, a raspy voice told them to come in. Aside from the large window with the sun shining in, there were no other lights. The room itself was desolate and empty aside from a table, and a man sitting in a mobile chair turned toward the window. After several moments of silence the man spoke.

"I didn't expect for you to find me so soon, Monsieur Holmes." The man's voice was hoarse and raspy as if he were struggling to breathe.

He turned his chair to face the two men.

"But I suppose I should have never underestimated you in the first place. I am Luc Javert."

Javert's body was completely scarred. His face looked as if went through extensive plastic surgery just to keep his features in the right place. His left eye was blood shot and was probably legally blind in it as well. His back was hunched over in an uncomfortable, yet permanent position. He was paralyzed from the lower left side of the body, including the leg, and he had no right leg. It also looked like he was wearing some kind of ear hearing aid. He was also breathing through a respirator.

Both John and Sherlock came to the conclusion that he was a victim of a chemical related explosion that deteriorated and distorted at least 75% of his body (from Sherlock's deductions and John's medical experience, not to mention his years in the military).

"I assume you might have some questions, you would like answered," Javert managed to breathe out before coughing.

"Yes well for starters…" Sherlock began, "Who are you and what is your ordeal with James Moriarty?"

Javert paused as if he were listening for someone. _It could be his hearing aid, but…._

Then he responded.

"He is the man who did this to me. There is nothing I would want more than to watch him burn. But since he stole that opportunity from me, it appears that I will have to make do with the rest of his empire. And that includes the elimination of his confidant." His tone was hard and carried a lot of emotion to it.

"Moran?" John asked.

Javert nodded.

"So this is about revenge isn't it?" asked Sherlock nearly ruining the moment, "May I ask the details of Moriarty's betrayal and of that of your injuries, sir?"

Javert paused again, this time his eyes glanced towards his hearing aid. Sherlock knew that it wasn't broken or malfunctioning because he wasn't adjusting it. Sherlock also heard an audible frequency coming from it, which made him more suspicious.

Javert finally spoke again.

"Betrayal is usually the price for failure for the Napoleon of crime. And death often comes with it. Fortunately, it seemed the Good Lord was merciful to me as I still lived. You see Monsieur Holmes, my people and I were Moriarty's _wandering knights_."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I see," he stated, "is that why you go by 'The Gypsy'?

For a brief second, the man looked as if he didn't know what Sherlock was talking about, though he quickly composed himself before anyone could notice. Anyone, but Sherlock Holmes that is. He continued hearing a noise coming from his hearing aid that was beginning to sound like someone's voice.

"Well yes," Javert answered, "You don't expect a man of my standards to use his real name with his enemies still about…

"Well then as long as we're discussing subtlety allow me to point out everything this façade of yours is lacking in." Sherlock interrupted abruptly.

Javert raised his brows.

"I beg your pardon."

"Your injuries seem equivalent to an employee that was victimized from an explosion at a chemical weapons factory in Syria two years ago. The damage done to his body was catastrophic. However; he went missing from the hospital shortly after his mild recovery."

Sherlock stepped closer to the man.

"Care to explain how that happened, _Mr. Hakim." _

The man froze realizing his cover was blown.

'Wait, Sherlock what's going on? Who is this man?" John asked confused.

"Geoff Hakim," Sherlock began to explain himself, "a Syrian weapons manufacturer and an actor apparently. Wife and three children, all dead unfortunately. Moved back to Syria to find employment. Was caught in a small nuclear explosion in the factory from a supposed chemical leak. He survived, but barely. Care to explain why you faked your identity, or would you like me to?"

The man was quiet and his eyes were cast downwards.

"Well then let's begin with that hearing aid of yours in your ear, which is actually a short range radio transmitter and communicator. How did I know, you may ask? Every moment that I finish speaking a static frequency emits from it and if you listen closely it sounds vaguely like a person speaking."

"Like the ones we used in the army back in Afghanistan." John added.

"Precisely," Sherlock stated.

"And your point is?" the man asked attempting to maintain his composure.

"It's very simple, really." Sherlock said with a smirk, "**_You_** are not the mastermind who has been contacting me for the past year."

The room went dead silent after then.

"And judging by the short range in your communicator I'd say the real mastermind can't be too far off."

Sherlock turned around and faced a shadowy figure in the corner.

"Isn't that right, _Ms. Heron_?!

The woman steps out of the shadow.

_To be continued..._

_A/N: Sorry about the wait everybody. Moving sucks. But I'm back on track. Expect part two to come out soon. _


	7. The Gypsy pt 2

The Gypsy pt. 2

_"And judging by the short range in your communicator, I'd say the real mastermind can't be too far off."_

_Sherlock turned around and faced a shadowy figure in the corner._

_"Isn't that right, Ms. Heron?" _

Arisia steps out of the shadows and walks towards the two men. Instead of her nun attire she was wearing not too long ago as a disguise, she was wearing a black pencil skirt with the same stockings and shoes, along with a long, brown leather designer jacket. Her hair was also pulled back.

"Well done Mr. Holmes," she said with a smile, turning her head towards the man in the chair, "Thank you Geoff, you've done well."

"Mistress," he said bowing his head as he left her and the two Englishmen.

"Child's play really," Sherlock stated though his expression wasn't very amused.

"I see," Arisia responded expression shifting as she crossed her arms, "Well then would you like to explain how I created this ruse, or would you prefer me too."

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back in his typical deduction fashion and stepped forward.

"Well I had a few theories to consider," Sherlock began in his usual monotone.

**_"For starters, I already considered that you were the real mastermind from your own accurate deductions of myself. A pawn is never supposed to be that brilliant. You also knew that I would have been on that boat this morning specifically due to the fact that that is the only form of transportation to arrive to the exact location of those coordinates you sent me. However; in your message you stated that I had two days to find you, but that we should meet by the end of the week, which is today. It's convenient really, that at the time in which you sent me that message, the end of the week would have been only two days away. So technically I only had two days to both find the identity of the mastermind and meet him or in this case her, but not at the same time. Which is why you showed up at that boat today, to give me a clue as to who you are and where I'd find you, but also to test me in the process. You needed me to take an interest in you, without blowing your cover; thus the disguise, the lack of dress, the creation of the fake Luc Javert to hide your true colors and the fight we had in the sanctuary earlier."_**

"Hold on, you two were fighting? In a church?!" John asked sounding a bit incredulous and confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes a bit and Arisia merely smiled.

"Fighting isn't necessarily about violence, Dr. Watson," she said to John, "It is about resolving conflict and gaining enlightenment in the process."

John raised an eyebrow.

"You know me?" he asked.

Arisia nodded then answered.

"Dr. John Hamish Watson, former British Army Doctor, and Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I was quite a fan of your blogs, though I have to admit after meeting Sherlock Holmes in person, your portrayal of him in your writing seems a bit inconspicuous."

John looked almost completely flabbergasted, Sherlock had to repress a smirk.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" she apologized holding her hand out, "My name is Arisia Heron, the _real _Gypsy. I'm the one who has been contacting Mr. Holmes this past year, and assisting him with the crumbling of Moriarty's crime empire. I must say it's an honor to meet you doctor."

John quickly regained his composure and shook her hand.

"The honor's all mine Ms. Heron."

Sherlock finally spoke.

"Yes well, now that we've all been acquainted, I believe it's time to get down to business. Involving Moran."

Arisia turned to Sherlock and gave him an almost nonchalant smile.

"Yes well, allow me to treat you both to lunch, and we'll discuss our plans furthermore." She said leading the two men to the door.

Sherlock was about to protest until John nudged him on the shoulder.

"That would be wonderful, thank you." John said though he never stopped glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock huffed and both men followed Arisia out the door.

Suddenly a loud bell cracked and echoed throughout the tower. All three of them looked up and saw a man hunched over ringing the bell above him.

"SANCTUARY, SANCTUARY!" he screamed.

"Oh knock it off already, Victor," Arisia yelled annoyed at the man.

"Accomplice of yours?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, he's been wanting to do that all weekend." She answered with a sigh as she left the room.

Both John and Sherlock stared at each other awkwardly.

The three had lunch at the Eiffel tower, although they all started with just tea and a few French croissants. They all sat in quiet. Sherlock and Arisia stared intently at each other while John looked at the menu (despite not being able to read French), while casting a glance at the two every now and then.

"Well….?" Arisia finally broke the silence.

"Well first, I would like to know why you contacted me in the first place? What is and was your ordeal with Jim Moriarty? And how do you plan to capture Sebastian Moran?" Sherlock stated sternly.

Arisia took a sip of her tea, and sat it back down on her plate.

"Well perhaps I should give you both a bit of background history. Gypsies played a fairly notorious role in Moriarty's early crime syndicate. They were nomadic, so they rarely grew attached to anywhere in particular. Thus making them perfect spies and infiltrators. They also held very little affiliations to civilization outside their own customs and endured much discrimination as a result, so their morals were expendable. Moriarty used them to stir violence in Gang activities, cause scandals and rants at political groups, and even commit acts of various crime. They were his, how Mr. Hakim stated earlier, _wandering knights._ Eventually, he gained enough money and success to the point where he could hire real professionals. Many of the gypsies that Moriarty worked with and abandoned struggled from lack of support. Their criminal work bred even more discrimination, hatred and violence to the point where there numbers were nearly cut in half."

"So, you're a gypsy?" John asked suddenly interested.

"Not exactly. My great-grandmother was though. Plus I spent so many years working with gypsies that I'm considered to be one of them. That and my own reputation I created for myself gained me the nickname."

"That still doesn't quite answer my questions." Sherlock stated not too stirred by Arisia's story.

"Very Well. Those lives that were lost and destroyed because of Moriarty are on me for getting them involved. And I will do whatever I takes to make it right."

There was a pause.

"But I couldn't get directly involved in taking down Moriarty's network. I needed someone with both brains, motivation, and propaganda to help me. When I discovered that you were still alive I immediately sent one of my agents to give you my contact information. "

"You see Mr. Holmes, I was one of Moriarty's made-men or made-_woman. _I oversaw practically every crime he was involved in."

There was a longer pause.

"You worked for Moriarty," Sherlock stated, his voice low and dark.

"Don't think that I had a choice," Arisia responded tone just as low.

"So why are you trying to destroy the man you worked for?" John asked attempting to appease the tension.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Jim Moriarty was a particularly troubled man," Arisia answered turning his head around.

John let out a humorless snort.

"Well there's the understatement of the century." Sherlock replied nearly letting out a dark chuckle.

"Yeah well I worked for the man," Arisia chuckled.

Suddenly the humor in the room disappeared.

"So how did you know Sherlock was still alive?" John asked.

"Well I figured that he was never dead in the first place, but I needed to find out for myself. So I visited the one of the many places I suspected you to be. The first successful case you solved in your exile."

"The murdered priest in Prague," Sherlock thought aloud. Arisia nodded.

"So what about Moran?" John finally asked.

The air suddenly shifted.

"Ahhh that," Arisia said in almost sudden realization. "Well as I said previously in our message, Moran has been pretty close on my trail lately, and he already suspects that you may be still alive. In fact, he may already know that I'm here. So you being here, with me is pretty risky. However; Sebastian Moran is a fairly simple man, by the time he discovers my whereabouts I'd already be one step ahead of him."

"You shouldn't underestimate Moran," Sherlock said.

"Moriarty didn't underestimate you until the last minute, did he?" Arisia responded raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock's face went hard. He immediately got out of his seat, and walked away. John went after him. Arisia sighed, paid the waiter and followed the two men.

She found Sherlock looking out from the balcony standing by himself. John was on the other side sighing in agitation. John looked up at Arisia.

"I think you upset him." He simply stated.

Arisia walked next to Sherlock. He didn't pay her any mind or acknowledge her, he simply just looked out into space.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I just….

"Three years." Sherlock interrupted.

"I'm sorry."

"Three years, I spent hiding because that sadist monster of a man destroyed me and everything I worked for. Three years of keeping my friends out of harm's way by pretending to be dead. Three years of not being able to use my own name. And you served that same bastard." His tone was dark and he put strained emphasis on the end of each word.

"That doesn't mean I enjoyed it. And at least you could gain redemption at the end." Arisia said her tone soft.

Sherlock finally looked at her.

"You have a chance to make this right. To reclaim your place as the world's only consulting detective, and clear your name. But you have to trust me Sherlock, please?"

The two were interrupted when John called out.

"Guys I think we have trouble."

Sherlock immediately looked through a scope, and saw three men coming out of a jeep. They were all in black and they were all armed.

"Do you know any of those men?" Sherlock asked Arisia.

She looked through the scope and nearly gasped.

"Shit." She whispered walking away.

"Come on we need to get out of here." She urged the two men.

"What's going on who are they?" John asked.

"People you don't want to get involved with." She simply stated.

_A/N: Anyone else notice the Hunchback of Notre Dame References throughout the story._


	8. The Gypsy pt 3

**_Author's note: So for anyone one who is curious, "Yes". Arisia is the great granddaughter of the character Simza Heron from Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows. Originally her character was based off Simza's character but her role in this story is a lot more elaborate. _**

**_And no I don't own anyone, except for Arisia and a few others (spoilers) _**

The Gypsy pt. 3

Arisia, John and Sherlock all headed out the dining room to the nearest exit. Arisia seemed nervous, however she was hiding it. John and Sherlock were both suspicious.

"I'll ask again, what's going on?" John asked with a hint of adrenaline rushing through him.

"He must have sent them to find me," Arisia said to herself, ignoring John's question.

"Who? Moran?" Sherlock asked trailing behind her.

"But how could he have known I was here? He hasn't even seen me in or heard from me in 4 years practically." She went on once again ignoring the two men behind her.

Finally Sherlock lost his patience, and grabbed Arisia by the arm spinning her around to his view.

"I won't ask you again." Sherlock said in a low, warning tone, "Who are those men? And. What. Is. Going. On?!"

Arisia scowled at the man as she attempted to wriggle out of his grip. When Sherlock made no signs of releasing her, she figured that she wouldn't be able to keep the truth from them for too long. Before she could open her mouth, however; two men in black suits walked in to the restaurant.

Before they could look towards the three, Arisia immediately grabbed the two men and lead them into the kitchen, despite protests made by the employers. When they arrived, she instructed every person apart of the kitchen staff to evacuate, claiming that it was an emergency. At first they just looked at her confused (despite the fact that she spoke their language), then three gun shots fired outside causing panic. They all immediately did what he instructed afterwards. Everyone was screaming and racing out the restaurant and the gunshots originated from the three armed men in black who were apparently targeting them.

"Look those men out there are after me, but if they find out that you two are here they won't hesitate to make you targets as well," she explained, fumbling through some kitchen equipment.

"So we need to get out of here unscathed then," Sherlock added.

"Right then, so do any of you have a plan?" John asked bracing himself.

Sherlock and Arisia looked at each other, as if they could read each other's thoughts. Then they smiled and nodded.

The three men finally arrived in the kitchen, scoping it carefully with their guns drawn out. The lights were out (conveniently) and the only audible sound emitted from dripping water from the sink. The man in the middle ordered the man on the right to turn on the lights. Immediately as the light flicked on, a sack of flour was tossed in the air which dispersed and blinded the three men temporarily. The man on the right was punched hard in the face and slammed in to the wall. The man on the left was grabbed in a choke hold and flipped almost vertically on the floor with a thud and a light _snap. _Finally the man in the middle had his arm twisted in a painful hold and his head came swiftly into contact with something hard. All three men were unconscious. When the smoke (or flour) cleared, Sherlock stood before the man in the middle, John stood next to the man on the right, and Arisia squatted next to the man on the left searching through his pockets. Sherlock held the man's gun in his hand and disarmed it with a smile.

**_First step: Confusion/Blindness.  
Lack of light limits the senses. Small audible sound causes one to lose focus on their directive. Second step: Divide and conquer. In a group there's always a leader, a second in command, and a pawn/supporter. Man in the middle was in charge, man on the left always stays by his side, and the man on the right is always sent away to do small tasks. Third step: Distraction. Flour tossed in the air, distracts the two men long enough where the man on the right had his guard dropped while finding the light. Fourth step: Strike!_**

"Well that was a bit too close for comfort," John stated popping his knuckles.

"Don't worry, John we'll get you back in the swing of things," Sherlock mocked, earning him a scowl.

Arisia finally found what she was looking for (the keys to men's car) and gestured toward the two men before her.

"Alright ladies, let's get out of here before they send others," She said taking a picture of the man's face and the scene before her with her camera phone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Evidence," she stated almost instantly as she headed out the door.

"Did she just call us ladies?"

"Let's not go there, John."

The two men followed the woman to the lift and headed out the tower toward the jeep.

"Get in," she practically ordered as she climbed in to the driver's seat.

Both of them complied, albeit reluctantly. Sherlock sat in the passenger's seat and John sat in the back, while Arisia drove.

"Why were those men after you?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Let's just say I have friends and enemies in high places." She simply answered.

"I would love it if you were a bit more specific," Sherlock shot back annoyed, "Did they work for Moran and/or Moriarty."

"Not anymore."

"So who's after you?" John asked.

After several seconds of silence, Arisia looked into the rearview mirror and noticed another black jeep gaining on her.

"Hang on boys," she said as she abruptly stomped her foot on the gas pedal. John fell back in seat, and Sherlock nearly lost his breath.

"They're coming after us," Sherlock stated

"How perceptive of you Mr. Holmes," she stated back sarcastically.

"No these aren't the same men who are targeting you, Arisia." Sherlock explained.

Arisia raised her brow.

**_"I should've known, dammit. There was more than one black jeep at that tower. The first one was parked from behind the tower out of sight. Reasons for discretion was obviously because they were spying on us. The jeeps were nearly identical in appearance, only difference was this one doesn't have a license plate number. Obviously as a form of camouflage or an attempt to allude capture. But any genius, would know that the reason for one to want to avoid getting caught is if they're about to commit an act of crime or if they are wanted for an act of crime. Then there were two men at the restaurant discretely watching the three of us. They were unarmed. One of them was wearing dog tags. Obviously military. They had no desire to attack any of us physically. At least not in a public place. The fact that you didn't immediately recognize them says that they weren't hired by the same employer. Am I right?"_**

Arisia nodded.

"They could've just been spies for those other three men."

**_"Or those three other men could have just been their distraction. It's a bit too much of a convenience that both groups of men arrived in almost the exact same cars though and one of them. When the three men arrived in the restaurant the other two barely even acknowledged them, and they left the restaurant immediately as the gunshots went off. If they were after you, Arisia they would have stayed behind and grabbed you the moment you walked out of the kitchen. Best opportunity. But they didn't and not because you weren't their direct target."_**

"Why are they after us then?" John finally asked.

**_"Simple. Whoever sent them must have found out about the three men targeting Arisia and discovered that we would be meeting her. They arrived in an identical car so we would assume that they're working for the same employer and share the motives. The question is, who sent them? Someone obviously acquainted with Ms. Heron. Who also happens to hold a grudge against me?"_**

John and Arisia's blood ran cold.

"Moran," John said with a hint of dread, "He discovered us. That we're here."

"How he found out is a different story." Sherlock deadpanned looking at Arisia.

Arisia thought hard for a while, then her eyes widened in realization and she swore.

"Alright boys, we need to lose these guys, and fast." She exclaimed making a sharp turn into the corner.

"It would help if you didn't kill us before they did," Sherlock complained.

"I don't mean to sound like a git, but do you have a plan," John stated with little enthusiasm.

Arisia took out the gun that she confiscated from one of the three men earlier, from her pocket and handed it to John.

"You'll have to wait for your window of opportunity before you use that, Dr. Watson," she said almost smugly.

John took the gun hesitantly, (without even asking when she took it) and positioned himself by the window.

The chase ventured throughout a small market. Arisia did her best to avoid hitting people, carts, various produce, livestock and other necessities sold there. The men chasing them didn't seem to share the same consideration. Which immediately drew the attention of the police.

"Wonderful, as if we had enough issues with the morons following us now," Sherlock complained once again.

"I'm sorry, but I could have sworn that you spent your profession working under law enforcement, which involves police," Arisia mocked.

"Well I think you've forgotten that I was dead for three years, because of your old boss's sick games," Sherlock shot back, "Also, police were the ones who consulted me, so technically I'm above law enforcement."

Arisia rolled her eyes.

The jeep they were driving in hit a harsh bump, and Arisia nearly lost control and almost crashed. However; she managed to regain control at the last moment and continued driving. John and Sherlock weren't too satisfied.

"Nice," Sherlock muttered, "This is why you should hardly see a woman behind a wheel, in situations requiring intense skill."

Arisia shot Sherlock a quick angry glare. Before any of them could react, she spun the car around at nearly 360 degrees causing the police cars to drive right pass her accidently. The jeep behind them stopped almost immediately. Arisia pressed her foot on the gas and drove straight towards the other jeep. The other car went into reverse in an attempt to escape, but they weren't fast enough. Just as it look as if the two cars were about to crash, Arisia quickly turned the car to the right and drove past them, scratching a bit of paint off in the process.

"Now, Dr. Watson, front tire on the left at 11'o clock," she yelled to John.

John followed Arisia's orders and shot at the tire. After the second shot, the tire blew out and the car immediately drove, skidding around recklessly and unceremoniously until it came crashing in to a small produce mart. Arisia abruptly parked the car into a far off corner and everyone got out.

"Nice shot Dr. Watson," she praised John.

"Lucky shot," John shrugged with a satisfied smile.

Arisia immediately turned to Sherlock, folding her arms and raising her eyebrow.

"Now what was that comment you said about a woman and her inability of adapting to intense situations while behind the wheel?" she asked, both her tone and expression extremely smug.

Sherlock merely turned his head and replied,

"I've been proven wrong before."

Arisia rolled her eyes and walked away, John chuckled a bit.

"But well done, Ms. Heron," Sherlock added.

Arisia paused and smiled, but kept moving.

She went to back of the jeep where she pulled out a black metal suitcase.

"There you are, you little bugger," she muttered before turning to the two men.

"Alright boys let's get out of here before the authorities find us."

Before they left, Arisia managed to get a picture of one of the two men driving the car. She then turned to everyone who witnessed the whole ordeal and winked at them. Almost all of them nodded their heads in agreement and went about their business. Both Sherlock and John were confused about the bizarre arrangement, until Sherlock discovered that it was a gypsy market.

By the time the police reappeared, the three were on a boat headed back to the hotel. There was a lot of damage, fortunately no one was killed or severely injured. The two men were now in custody, along with the three other men responsible for the shoot-out in the Eiffel Tower. Arisia had already cleaned the car out for evidence that would trace back to her, Sherlock and John.

During the boat ride, Arisia was clinging rather possessively to that suitcase. This made Sherlock rather suspicious. When the boat made it to the pier, they walked back into the hotel and made it to their rooms without any issue. The moment they arrived Arisia made herself comfortable, sitting on Sherlock's bed and taking her shoes off.

"My feet are killing me," she grunted.

"Yes, well while you're making yourself comfortable, perhaps you'd like to discuss the terms of our arrangement," Sherlock stated sternly in no mood to play games.

"Yes well if it involves learning more about my personal life and what I did for a living you can forget it. I don't go into details like that on the first date. "Arisia stated idly fiddling with her phone.

"Funny, that's usually the first thing people normally discuss over a first date," John muttered under his breath.

Arisia turned to John and gave him sharp, smug look.

"Who says I'm normal?"

She turned back to Sherlock.

"Well then here's the plan, so both of you listen carefully."

Over the course of at least 4 ½ hours, the three of them went over the course of actions they planned to take. Arisia set up the plan, while Sherlock orchestrated every step that was to take place. John occasionally brought forth small yet useful details that would come in handy. They weaved through the plan almost effortlessly, filling in any loopholes or escape routes that Moran could possibly find. It was quite impressive seeing these two brilliant minds come together, Sherlock himself was becoming a bit excited. But there was some doubt, laced with the excitement.

"Are you sure the plan will work?" Sherlock questioned.

"As sure as I'll ever be," she responded, "Just make sure you show your ass up at that interview. I have a friend who's a reporter. The entire world is going to want to see Sherlock Holmes come back to life and learn how he cheated death."

"The son of a bitch, Moran won't want to hesitate to kill you at the height of your glory," John added.

"So what's in the case?" Sherlock asked suddenly changing the subject.

"That, my dear Holmes, is need-to-know information, and you don't need to know," she shot back.

"I guess the things in that case must mean something to you."

"They mean** everything **to me, because they are me!" She exclaimed. "The only things in this world, other than myself, that define me, end of discussion"

Sherlock walked up to her.

"Is it?" he asked in his rich baritone, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Sherlock, it is," she replied unfazed by his intimidation.

The two stared down at each other until John came in between them.

"Children, let's not fight." He said gently pushing the two away from each other.

"Well, you two should probably head back to London before Moran discovers you here himself," Arisia began, closing the case and picking it up, "Make sure your brother put's your friends in extensive protective custody."

Sherlock turned to John.

"Call Mycroft, and tell him we're returning," he instructed.

John nodded and reached for his phone.

"Will you be arriving in London or do you wish to watch the plans unfold here-

Before Sherlock could finish his sentence, Arisia was gone.

He looked around and noted the open window next to the chair, she was occupied in an hour ago.

"-behind the lines?" he finished.

John turned back around and noticed that Arisia had vanished.

"She's gone?"

"It would seem so."


End file.
